The Earth 1st Marines
by boredhooman
Summary: For Earth, it was any day as normal... until they came. Humans with advanced technology from a massive interstellar empire had come to offer us a place in their society. The cost? Thousands of bodies for the Imperial Guard.


It was all very sudden. One minute ago, it seemed like, he and his wife, Rachel, had been sitting down on the couch in their new home, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace as near-blizzard snow conditions raged outside. The next minutes the entire nation was in a state of emergency, and the next minute he, along with most fit veterans less than thirty, was called back into active service.

And then he learned just how much everything had changed over the past few days.

Corporal Jack Beckett tucked away the picture of his wife into his breast pocket and peered around the cramped dropship. The Earth First, they were called. Not because they were particularly good or special, but because when the world militaries were forcibly united, The United States, Canada, and Greenland were designated Sector One. He didn't know about the rest of the sectors, being American, but the National Guard was somewhat inflated with fresh troops as their role changed to what the Army and Air Force used to do. The Coast Guard took over the jobs of the Navy and Marine Corps.

Those ousted services? They became Earth's interplanetary assets. Earth's new master, some "Imperium of Man", was teaching the Navy the ropes on using their massive space vessels. The Army and Air Force was still pretty much the same. However, the Marines became the shock troops. The Marines would make initial planet-fall, establish a beachhead for the Army and Air Force, and then move on to the next front.

And that's exactly what Beckett's platoon was about to do.

One of the liaisons, Guardsmen they were called, stood up in front of the waiting Marines. Upon the founding of the six regiments of Earth-born space soldiers, the person in charge of Imperial operations in the area had seen fit to allow the planet relative military autonomy, provided they were overseen for a short time by seasoned and trusted Guardsmen.

Beckett studied the man closely. Somehow, they were human. His civilization had always thought their planet was the origin of human life. Apparently not.

The Guardsman was scarred. His face, his exposed forearms, his armor, and his weapon all bore scratches and burn marks from a lifetime of previous battles. His armor was deeply pitted in some areas, but rather clean. Not polished, but there was no dirt or grime anywhere on it. Jack had no idea what his weapon was supposed to do, but it looked superficially similar to his. A tube at one end, trigger at the other, and a magazine-looking-thing roughly in the middle.

The Guardsman cleared his throat. "Listen up, Earth," he spoke confidently, with a the earpiece they all had had translating in real time. "I know you may fancy yourselves the best on your planet, tip of the sword. But that doesn't count here. I've seen horrors that would leave you pissing yourselves, and I've killed ones that would give you nightmares for the rest of your lives.

"This is your proving ground. The Lord General in charge of this sub-sector has seen fit to allow yourselves to keep your history and pride. However, you all are utterly unproven and as white as fresh snow. Prove to him what you will. Reestablish control of this forsaken planet, and prove yourselves worthy of walking among us. Prove yourselves worthy of preserving your traditions and honor in the face of those who look upon you like ants."

Behind him, the doors of the dropship creaked open, letting in bright sunlight that almost blinded the occupants. Many shielded their eyes, others closed them, while the rest just stared transfixed at the speaker.

"Prove to yourselves you are all worthy of living in this galaxy."

* * *

Rounds peppered all around Jack as he ducked down into the muddy trench, bayonet at the ready. He was the first in, however, and renegade troops were still occupying. He ran the closest through, piercing the heart. His target merely smiled.

"Blood..." it croaked. "Blood... for the Blood God!"

It reached for Jack's face with its twisted hands. Shards of metal were stuck through the fingers, make-shift weapons, and before Jack could get away it slashed his cheek, cutting a crimson line across his flesh. The renegade laughed maniacally and licked the blood from the blades. Jack recovered from his shock and aimed his rifle, firing an accurate three-round burst at its head. The head burst into gory bits of brain and bone, and the body finally stopped moving.

Jack fired several times down the trench-line, killing more of the former-humans that were just now noticing the breach in their lines. He heard shots behind him and he turned around to be greeted by the site of his squadmates clearing the other side of the trench. Two covered the way down the other line with burst fire, while three came towards him. One of them, Frank, came up to him and helped to secure that side of the trench.

"Crazy shit, huh?" Frank asked. "I don't think they even feel anything."

"What the hell is a Blood God?" Jack wheezed. He leaned against the trench for a moment to catch his breath. "This place is fucked."

Frank shrugged. "I'm just glad M16s kill these guys as well as they do Cambies."

Before Jack could respond, the Guardsman squad-liaison came storming up to them. "You two! Pay attention! They're charging!" his voice buzzed in Jack's earpiece. He pointed perpendicular to the trench-line. Jack stepped up to the ledge and peered over. He was reaching for a pair of binoculars, but steadied his hand. He could see them.

Or, rather, it. A wave of renegades, what looked like the better part of a thousand strong, were running towards the captured trench. Almost as loud as their footfalls were their battle cries. He couldn't understand what they were saying, but he guess it had something to do with that Blood God of theirs.

He turned to the Guardsman. "Uh... any ideas, sir?"

The Guardsman shrugged. "Your tanks are landing now. Just need to hold out."

"Where the hell's the Air Force?"

The Guardsman shrugged. "I heard they were tied up by heretic interceptors."

Jack sighed. He peered at the wave again, and it had gotten a lot closer than it was before. "Screw this." He hefted his rifle and began firing wildly into the oncoming force. Accuracy didn't really matter; it was impossible to not hit something. His squadmates followed suit, spewing round after round down range. They had a noticeable effect, but the fallen things were immediately placed by one of the dozens behind them. Even the squad's three grenadiers were doing little in terms of slowing down the horde.

However, with the full might of the platoon's weapons, the enemy infantry were slowed down to the point of the back ranks tripping over those in front, some even being trampled to death. Not that it mattered; to them, blood was blood.

Jack crouched behind cover to reload when the rounds started to hit again. He stayed down in cover, deciding to wait until they stopped and it was safe to come up again. His eyes veered to the Guardsman. He was calmly firing at the advancing force, but Jack realized he had never actually seen him fire his rifle. The thing had no noticeable recoil and there were no shell casings. There was no muzzle flash either.

"What the hell is your weapon?"

The Guardsman ignored him. He kept firing until his weapon eventually went silent and he crouched down into the trench. "What?"

"Your weapon," Jack repeated. "Sure isn't firing cartridges."

The Guardsman stared at him as if he were an idiot. "It's a lasrifle."

Jack shook his head in subtle disbelief. "You know, I'm not sure why I'm surprised. Hey, why don't we have those now?"

"Cog-boys don't trust you guys with our weapons. Don't think you will honor the machine spirits correctly."

"Machine- You know what, I'm not even going to ask." Jack looked up to the top of the trench again to be greeted by the site of the approaching enemy. "Shit!"

The demented figures were only a few dozen yards away and closing fast. He fumbled on his belt for a second and affixed his bayonet, then emptied his rifle into the advancing horde. The sounds to his sides told him his fellows were doing similar.

The first that reached him received a bayonet to the gut and was thrown to the side, and Jack then turned to his side, cracking the skull of another with the heavy stock of his rifle. Another jumped at him and he stepped away, causing the strike to miss and overextend. jack used this opening to attack and speared his opponent, causing him to double over from the force of the impact. Jack pulled his rifle out of the renegade's abdomen and thrust forward again, hitting it in the neck.

The renegade, gurgling on its own blood, fell to the ground and Jack took a moment to see how his squadmates were doing. From what he saw, they were doing nicely. Most were up, and the undisciplined masses were falling quickly. Sloppy technique and insane fervor were no match for precise training and years of experience. However, for every one that they killed, a dozen more were foaming at the mouth to take their place. Inevitably, Marine casualties among the platoon started rising, some being hacked to pieces by crude weapons and others simply being killed and the assailant moving to the next target.

He saw one unfortunate Marine be stabbed through the abdomen with a crude spear, pinned to the wall, and had his faced hacked off by the renegade's machete. The squad's Guardsman quickly dispensed the "Emperor's Peace" to the unfortunate man who managed to still be alive, and immediately returned to combatting the assaulting renegades.

Suddenly, above the clamor of guns and war cries of the renegades, Jack heard a very familiar and welcome sound: that of light machine guns. Behind the platoon's position was a column of Humvees, which had set up in a wide line to fire on the advancing renegades.

The .222 caliber rounds flew across the battlefield, impacting the bodies of the renegades and dropped them as if they were hung meat cut from a string. Jack was grimly reminded of his tour of duty in Cambodia, when he was in his early twenties. Sometimes villagers, especially those who resisted, were lined up by the new regime and shot, the corpses left to rot where they fell. When hit by a round like the 5.56 NATO, bodies don't fly back or jerk like how it is in movies. They just fall to the ground like a doll.

The renegades continued regardless, but those who reached the trenches were few and far between and easily dispatched. After a few minutes, which to Jack felt like seconds, the firing stopped. He just sat in the trench, catching his breath. A few small and controlled sips from his canteen wet his throat and eased his breathing. It was over; at least, for the next few minutes.

"Hey, Frank," he called, searching around him for his squadmate. Then he noticed the blood-stained body at his feet. "Aw, fuck."

He then heard the plop of boots struggling through slimy mud. "They showed up timely," the Guardsman liaison commented.

Jack turned to him. "You know, I never got your name."

The Guardsman reached over and shook his hand. "Corporal Met Leski of the Valhallan 597th."

* * *

Rachel paced the room in worry. She couldn't believe Jack was being deployed again, and for those damn people from space. Where had they come from? Why? Not only did they declare themselves rulers of the damn planet, but they had taken almost the entire military as well, along with the reserves, which her husband was in after his second tour of duty ended two years ago.

Now, instead of safe at home with her, possibly raising a child, he was off at war again. Except this time, he was off in space, fight God-knows-what. Even if he wasn't killed by some horrific monster those bastards saw fit to wage war with, how long would it take for him to come back, if he came back? They could keep him for the rest of his life, changing him to different management or support positions as his body aged and deteriorated.

She plumped down on the couch with a sigh. There was no use worrying about that now. All she could do was pray and support the rest of his family.

* * *

_Excerpt from The Cain Archives, compiled and annotated by Inquisitor Amberley Vail, Ordo Xenos_

Something was familiar with this planet. The shape, the names of the continents...

I put that thought aside. I had always felt it best to let my subconscious work itself out. Forcing it never worked, all it did was give you numerous false alarms that, in my line of work, could very well get you killed. Not to say I ignored when I felt something was off, as very often paranoia is justified.

We had found the planet when traveling through the Warp on a routine supply and reinforcement run when, unsurprisingly, something went wrong. Instead of arriving on Coronus* as we were supposed to, we had arrived in a completely unfamiliar system with one habitable planet. And considering our ship was receiving unnatural radio waves from that direction, it was very likely that was the case.

_*A world, and its surrounding system, given over entirely to the resupply and redeployment of the Imperial Guard regiments active in the Domacles Gulf; if you think of it as Munitorum equivalent of an Adeptus Mechanicus forge-world, you won't go far wrong, although on the whole it was rather less grubby._

[…]

From years of experience with aristocrats, I had learned there was no better way to get their attention than going right in unannounced and making a general buggery of the place. To do that, I, Jurgen, and Sergeant Lustig's squad took flight in a Valkyrie to what orbital picts had shown to be the most populous area .

Unsurprisingly, it did not take long to garner attention. Soon after we reached the atmosphere a pair of aerofoils had moved to intercept us. I heard some radio chatter through my com-bead* that I couldn't understand, but could only assume were directions to follow them or go away. Considering the nature of my visit, they probably meant the former. I ordered the pilot to follow the one moving in front.

_*Which implies that he had linked his com-bead to the Valkyrie's comm systems, although he never bother to specify as much._

One of the aerofoils came closer to within visual range, and opened the side door. I know this may seem a foolish and dangerous decision, but I had to make absolutely clear they would want to talk to me instead of just shooting the craft down. Seeing an utterly alien uniform and set of equipment would give more evidence to the pilot that I was something their planetary governor may want to see.

The ride had been smooth enough, at least according to everyone except Jurgen, and we eventually landed on a large strip for the takeoff and landing of various aircraft the natives had. Once we hit the ground, I saw in the distance a small column of armed men. I stepped out of the Valkyrie and the Valhallans filed in behind me, the squad behind and Jurgen at my side as always.

As they got within talking distance, I could make out most of the men to be some sort of honor guard, all wearing very dark blue jackets and white caps and trousers. They moved with precision, their deep brown rifles swaying rhythmically in synchronization with each other. In front of them was a rather stout man who looked like he drunk a little too much amasec in his younger days, but otherwise looked like he knew what he was doing. This must be the governor. Or, at least, someone who directly represented him. I held my hand out in greeting, and the man surprised me by grasping it firmly and shook with confidence.

So far, it looked like things might go smoothly. Of course things never did, but not as if it was one of the native's fault.


End file.
